Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 465
January 28, 2013
One Day to Shattered Souls — Ssssupernatural!
My webmistress did some updates on my site yesterday, and provided me a lovely surprise! The sequel to this book, entitled Lost Souls, is already up for pre-order on Amazon! And it’s set to release sooner than I’d expected—June 4, 2013! Read a description of the story when you click the link.
But back to Shattered Souls (which right now is priced at only $2.99!!)…
You want to know if I deliver on the spooky elements of the story. Judge for yourselves. Here’s just a tease.
Cait and Jason, her PI partner, are following a lead that takes them to a cemetery. Although Cait would like to turn her back on her heritage, and deny her inner witch, she finds herself pushed into a corner…
The Excerpt
Cait didn’t like graveyards. They were too damn noisy.
The staticky hum began even before she’d parked the car inside Edgemont Cemetery’s gates. Spirits clamored, eager to connect. But her creaky “Spidey sense” tingled, telling her the ghosts of the departed weren’t the only phantoms there. From the moment she’d stepped out of the car, she’d felt an eerie, heavy presence.
Maybe she was uneasy because the sky had darkened with heavy, gray clouds where moments ago there’d been wispy streaks of white sliding across a blue sky. She’d shrugged it off as coincidence, unwilling to give in to the urge to slide her hand into her pocket and clasp the familiar flannel bag she’d stuffed there before she’d left her apartment.
Maybe it was the section of the cemetery she approached. Here the graves were older and many studded with ostentatious statues—lambs adorning children’s graves, their features blurred by erosion, and angels grown grubby with soot and dirt—hovering over sad little plots where rain and time had sunk the mounds. Water from the previous night’s storm settled in the hollows.
The prickle of goose bumps lifted the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. Electricity crackled in the air.
And the whispers, usually so many that their individual messages were lost in the noise, coalesced into a single thrumming chant.
Beware, beware, beware…
Cait grew rigid, a heavy knot of dread settling in her belly. If she’d been alone, she might have heeded the warning.
“Hey, I found them,” Jason called from a small, manicured square enclosed inside a wrought iron fence. “Constance, Hope, Charity, all sisters. Here’s mom,” he said, pausing in front of the grave marked with a modest headstone. “Margaret Worthen. Damn, they all died on the same day.” He turned to aim a questioning glance her way.
Like she should know why they were here looking at the headstones of a family who’d died a century and a half ago? The list they’d found in the girl’s apartment had led them on this wild goose chase.
Despite the ominous signs, she shrugged, pretending indifference. So far, she’d managed to keep Jason in the dark about the details of the woo-woo side of their investigation. How the hell would she ever make it sound anything but crazy? “Maybe our missing girl was researching someone’s family tree?”
Jason grunted and knelt in front of the father’s more elaborate headstone. “Jonas Worthen. Same day. October 14, 1864. They had a family crest—a shield with a lion’s head and tree branches surrounding it. Guess it impressed someone if they put it on his headstone.”
A tendril of ice-cold air teased along her cheek, and she recognized the chill for what it was. Then something moved at the corner of her eye.
Expecting the caretaker who’d led them to the family plot and hovered nearby in case they needed further help, she turned, only to find a tall marble statue beside her—Blessed Mary dressed in robes, a finger lifted to her lips, which might have looked a little less sinister if her face weren’t blackened with grime.
Cait grimaced, thinking she’d let her imagination get away from her because the place creeped her out, but she couldn’t drag her gaze away. Some inner instinct held her immobile.
Jason leaned toward Jonas Worthen’s headstone. “There’s an inscription.”
“Ever near us though unseen,
Thy dear immortal spirit treads…”
The statue shifted. Almost imperceptibly. Her head lowering toward Cait.
Chest tight, Cait jumped back. “Jason, stop!” she tried to shout, but her throat constricted.
“For all the boundless universe
Is life—there is no death.”
The chill wind stiffened, grasping like invisible fingers at her hair and clothes. “Jason,” she repeated faintly. How would she explain this?
Frozen, she reached into her pocket and crushed the red flannel bag in her fingers, grateful as never before for her mother’s intervention.
Jason straightened and stepped backward, but his foot fell into a deep puddle at the edge of the mother’s grave. Cursing, he tugged his boot, but the suctioning mud held it.
The statue behind him was an angel whose even features slid into a narrow-eyed glare and whose lips pulled away from its teeth in a feral snarl. It reached out.
Inside her head came voices shouting, Run…run…run…
Advice she didn’t need. Her skin prickled into gooseflesh. Her heart skittered. “Hey!” Cait lurched forward and grabbed Jason’s arm. His foot slipped from the boot. He turned to retrieve it, but she shoved him forward. “Forget it—move!”
The caretaker stood at the bottom of the hill, his dark face tightening, eyes widening as he stared at the statue Jason had yet to see.
“Cait—my boot. What the hell’s gotten into you?”
The temperature was dropping fast. Didn’t he feel it? “No time. Run!”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the rise, falling in beside the caretaker, who didn’t need convincing.
“Holy Mary, mother of God…” he whispered under his breath.
“Consecrated ground,” she blurted, racing along, pulling still on Jason’s sleeve.
“It’s all consecrated ground. It’s a damn cemetery,” Jason muttered. Then his jaw dropped. “What the fuck?”
An angel with its serene face tilted toward the sky opened its eyes and peered down at them, the sockets hollow and black.
Another waft of cold air buffeted Cait’s back. “A crypt!” she bit out. “We need something covered.”
“Follow me,” the caretaker said, his burly body surprisingly nimble as he cut across a row of graves and headed to the east side of the graveyard.
The cold tendrils grew stronger, clawing at their backs. The trio’s labored breaths puffed in frozen clouds.
“Here,” whispered the caretaker, stopping at a stucco-and-concrete crypt and pulling out a ring of keys. His fingers shook as he flipped through them, found the one he needed, and unlocked the door.
The three of them lunged inside and slammed the door behind them.
Cait set her back to the door, digging in her heels. The door shuddered against her.
“What’s goin’ on, Cait?” Jason asked, his voice tightening, his gaze jumping from her to the worker.
The caretaker’s dark face was ashen. “Some bad mojo goin’ on here.”
“Did I mention that Henry’s killer isn’t human?” she said, her breaths ragged.
“No, you didn’t,” Jason replied with a nasty snarl. “What is it with you? Can’t you trust anyone?”
“I’m sorry, Jason. I never expected a freaking wraith to follow us here.” The door continued to rattle, and Cait began to worry about the stained glass panels at the far side of the crypt. Although she’d given up on God a long time ago, she made the sign of the cross over her chest.
“Why are you doing that?” Jason said, his expression growing pinched. “This is hallowed ground, right? Aren’t we’re safe?”
Cait grimaced while saying a silent prayer that was true. “Reflex. The bastards scare the bejesus out of me.”
Jason gave her a grim smile. “Paddy O’Connell’s daughter to the end.”
The caretaker lifted a shaky hand like a child requesting permission to speak.
“What?” Cait bit out as the door rattled harder.
“’Pears we’re safe in here, but how the heck to do we git out? We gonna die here?”
She wouldn’t admit to the two men who were looking to her for all the answers that she hadn’t strategized beyond finding shelter.
Cait slid down the door, letting the wind ravage outside unchecked. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the ratty, red flannel bag. For a long moment, she stared. Then, drawing her courage around her like a cloak, she crushed it in her fist.
It was just fabric, filled with desiccated flowers soaked in dragon tree oil. Not a precious gift her mother had given her. She had to try something.
Setting her face in harsh lines, she aimed a glare their way. “Either one of you have a lighter?”
January 27, 2013
2 Days to Shattered Souls — Yes, there’s romance!
Today, just to entice you to keep reading, I’m offering a small gift, a $5.00 Amazon eGift certificate, to one lucky commenter. Just enough to buy a Kindle version of this book with a little something left over. *wink*
Yes, there’s spooky, creepy happenings throughout this book. Funny moments, too. But you want to know about Sam and Cait, whether they work as a couple and an investigative team. They’ve been on-again, off-again since their divorce. Their last separation was nearly a year. Sam is resistant to trusting Cait to keep it together, and she’s caused him worry and heartbreak. Cait loves Sam, but hasn’t trusted him with her secrets. The one thing that neither has control over is their overwhelming lust for each other. Take a peek inside their lives.
Here, Sam is delivering Cait to her front door after they’ve reviewed the day’s discoveries at Cait’s favorite bar. Sam’s already irritated because Cait withheld some information and insisted on meeting at O’Malley’s, even though she drank Cokes rather than her usual scotch. It’s been raining…
The Excerpt
The parking brake grated. A car door slammed behind her.
She grinned, careful to wipe her face clear of amusement as she unlocked her apartment door. Before she could push it open, a hand reached past her and shoved it wide. Another hand slid around her waist and forced her over the threshold.
Shrugging away from his hold, she pretended to resist. The door slammed behind her, and before she could face him, his wet body crowded hers against the wall of the foyer, hands gripping her wrists and gliding them upward.
“Gonna pat me down?” she gasped, wishing those hands were caressing her.
“Just shut up,” he ground out, pressing close enough she felt his rigid cock grind against her buttocks.
Anger chasing desire was a heady cocktail. Cait knew all too well that the madder Sam got, the brighter the fireworks. “This is my house,” she bit out, “and I didn’t invite you in.”
“I’m not a fucking vampire, and you left me a key,” he whispered in her ear. “Invitation enough.”
So he’d figured that out. “Maybe I just forgot it was there.”
“You’re a lot of things, but careless isn’t one of ’em.”
The low, sexy rumble of his voice was doing a number on her, rasping nerve endings, igniting her arousal like kerosene poured onto smoldering coals. “Whatcha gonna do, Detective Pierce?” she asked, letting him hear the breathless excitement in her voice.
“Not what I should, that’s for sure,” he growled.
The whispered regret stung.
Stiffening, she muttered, “I’ll make it easy for you to do the right thing. I want you to go.”
“Liar.” His hand slid between her waist and the wall, then skimmed upward to cup her breast. He squeezed, shaping its fullness with his broad palm.
Another hand glided between her legs, and fingers strummed over her clothed sex.
Cait bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan. But her body betrayed her in a very obvious way.
“You’re wet, O’Connell,” Sam drawled beside her ear.
“So, it’s been a while. Coulda happened with anybody.”
“Sorry I’m not Jason?” he whispered, pinching her nipple.
The sensual torture earned a throaty groan. Then she remembered he’d asked something. “Jason?”
“You been playing with a partner again?”
If she’d had an ounce of pride left, she would have said yes. Just to prick him. He was already getting pretty sure of himself by the way he crowded closer, his hips grinding against her backside. “We’re just friends,” she gasped, then rocked her hips side to side to rub against his cock.
He nuzzled into the corner of her shoulder, and she tilted her head, encouraging him to slide warm lips along her skin.
“You planning on staying the night, Pierce?”
His teeth gently bit her earlobe. “Only if you beg me.”
“Beg!” she snorted. “I don’t have to beg for it. I get hit on all the time.”
“Wrong answer,” he growled.
The button at the top of her slacks popped. Her zipper scraped down. A hand slid over her belly, and a single, thick digit slipped between her slick folds. Sam circled on her clit then pinched it and circled again, stoking her arousal.
Cait’s entire body quaked. Sweet Jesus, she wasn’t gonna last a minute. When fingers twisted her nipple, the intense pleasure arched her back. Another second and he’d have her climbing the wall. “Uncle, already.”
“What’s that, sweetheart?” Fingers glided down, tucking inside her entrance then thrusting in maddening little strokes.
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“Just making sure you really want me here.”
A soft, ragged sob escaped her lips, and Cait surrendered, slumping against him. “Please, Sam. Please finish it, now.”
He pulled away his hands and gripped her hips. Taking one step back, he turned her. Standing face-to-face and supported by his strength, Cait lifted her head.
His taut, hungry look took away her breath. The half-lidded gaze blazed midnight blue; his stare was unrelenting.
“It’s just sex,” she blurted, needing to pull back a little emotionally.
“Agreed.” His stare flitted to her lips.
Cait wet them with the tip of her tongue. “Doesn’t mean we’re together again.”
“That will never happen.”
His expression, tight, intense, told her he meant it. Part of her wanted to howl with disappointment. The other part was revved and ready to take anything she could get.
“Fuck buddies it is.” She rose on tiptoe and grasped his collar, pulling him down until his lips rubbed against hers. Cait moaned and stroked her tongue into his mouth, greedy for a taste.
Sam pushed his tongue against hers, forcing it back, and followed, rimming her teeth then stroking deep while his lips suctioned and rubbed.
She thrust her hands into his short-cropped hair and lost herself.
His breath was minty, like he’d popped a Tic Tac before he’d followed her to the door. She smiled against his mouth. This seduction was premeditated. No way could he claim she’d driven him to break.
Sam ended the kiss, then spun her by the hips and shoved her toward her bedroom.
“You still haven’t learned the joys of foreplay,” she muttered. Secretly she was thrilled. Cait rolled her hips as she strode toward her bedroom. She unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it over her shoulder. The rustle of clothing behind her told her he was making quick work of his own clothes, so she kept going until she was nude and crawling onto the mattress.
She still hadn’t glanced back, wanting to be horizontal when she took her first good look because her legs felt rubbery already. She lay against the sheets, closing her legs, one thigh angling over the other because suddenly she felt a little shy about giving him a glimpse of her sex.
Cait, however, took her fill of Sam, her gaze raking every inch of his body. Time apart had dulled the memory of his masculine perfection. But now every detail seared her mind.
The dim light from the hallway defined Sam’s rugged body with a shadowy underscoring of rippling muscle. Wide shoulders, a tapered waist, thickly muscled arms and thighs…her gaze snagged on his cock, which thrust upward, rigid and pulsing.
Moisture spilled from deep inside her pussy to moisten folds thickening with arousal.
Sam took a step toward the bed, then halted. “Are you still on the pill?” he asked in a gruff voice.
Her mouth had gone dry. She nodded.
“Been sleeping with anyone else?”
She snorted. “None of your damn business.”
On a harsh rasp, his chest rose swiftly, his lips crimping in irritation. “Cait, do I need to wear a condom?”
Her pride deflated like a punctured balloon. “No. Do I need you to wear one?”
Sam’s square jaw flexed, and he set a knee into the mattress.
Cait had her answer and shouldn’t have been so damn happy about it. Nor did she have any doubts he’d told her the truth. At least with sex, they’d always been completely honest. So neither of them had been in a hurry to find another partner. Maybe they still had too many raw wounds to risk their hearts again.
Sam crawled over her, nothing except his thick cock touching her skin. It glided over her mound then rested against her belly, heavy and warm.
Cait slowly parted her legs, scraping beneath hairy thighs, until she lay open beneath him.
He came down on his elbows and cupped her cheeks.
Then he bent to give her a slow kiss that melted the tension she hadn’t known rode her body. Her lips parted, and she surrendered herself, giving him the lead as she always had because, when it came to sex, Cait yielded everything, body and soul.
Sam groaned and lifted his mouth away. His hips rose as he dragged his cock down her belly and pushed it between her legs, prodding her sex. When he found her moist entrance, he paused. “Wider,” he rasped.
Instantly, she obeyed, lifting her knees and letting them splay open as far as was comfortable. Her hips tilted, cupping upward, angling her pussy for the prime angle, the one that would force the ridge around the head of his cock to stroke her magic spot.
Her whole body quivered with anticipation as he circled his hips and began to screw slowly inside her. Air hissed between her clenched teeth. God, she’d forgotten how big he was.
“You OK?” he said, his voice thick.
“Ego need a little stroking?”
His mouth curved, and he pushed deeper. Then his head sank. Forehead to forehead, he groaned again. “Goddamn, you’re wet. And so fucking tight.”
Sam rarely cursed, except when she got under his skin. Cait tilted back her head and kissed him hard. “Don’t go easy on my account.”
Like a greyhound leaping out of the starting gate at the crack of a pistol, Sam thrust deep, pushing the air from her lungs in a harsh gasp.
Cait didn’t care. She clutched his shoulders, her fingers digging deep. She bounced her hips off the mattress, her movements opposing his, until their bodies slammed noisily together.
Sam began the rapid-fire pistoning that never failed to get her off. His strokes powered into her, rough and targeted—aimed straight at her core.
Unbidden, tears filled her eyes. She savored every moment—the taste and scent of his clean sweat, the tensile strength of his hard, muscled frame, the thrusts that churned her juices like silky butter as he rammed past her rippling walls.
Sam filled her up in more ways than the obvious. How could she let him walk away again?
January 26, 2013
3 Days to Shattered Souls! — Meet Sam and Cait
If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win an altered art pendant made by me!
I’ve been wondering what I can do for a contest to run alongside the release of Shattered Souls. Something that will entice you to stop by and check out the excerpts here, and something that will encourage you to talk the book up with your friends.
I love this book. Adore the characters. The hero and heroine are very strong individuals. The supporting cast is fun. I loved writing them all into the next story and having Cait find her witchy footing, albeit reluctantly.
So what might help you decide to read the book? Yes, I’ll share excerpts to tempt you. How about you tell me what would entice you to talk up the book and post it on your FB or website? Does anyone know how to run contests on Goodreads? What sort of prizes stimulate interest there? I’ve never spent much time there because I feel lost. I don’t know how to take advantage. I need advice! But in the meantime, meet Sam and Cait.
[Right now, you can save $7.00 on the Kindle version of Shattered Souls. Follow the link!]
The Excerpt
Hands gripped Caitlyn O’Connell’s shoulders and shook her. “Get up, dammit.”
The gruff voice was familiar. Felt right, hearing it in her bedroom—for all of two seconds. Then she pried open her eyes, wincing at the overhead light, and stared at Samuel Pierce.
Same taut expression, same hard body. Brown hair cut short, freshly shaved, and not a crease in his pale dress shirt or dark trousers. A silk tie ringed his strong neck. Strong lines bracketed his mouth, the corners turned down.
He didn’t seem particularly happy to be here. Which was sort of sad. Once upon a time, he’d sworn there was nowhere else he wanted to be more.
“How’d you get in?” she muttered. Was he aware his thumbs caressed her shoulders? She glanced down, then back up again.
Sam looked down at his hands, let go of her shoulders, and straightened. With his gaze still on hers, he raked a hand through his hair and sighed.
Now all six feet two inches of his sturdy frame loomed, bristling with ill-concealed impatience.
“Damn, Caitlyn, you still have a spare key on top of the door frame. I told you it wasn’t a good idea a long time ago. Anyone can let himself in.”
“Only person ever used it was you,” she grumbled, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “What time’s it?”
“Time to get your ass out of bed.”
“I don’t work on your schedule anymore.” She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and pulled on a scowl that would have had a lesser man backing up. “It’s eight fucking o’clock. Whatever it is can wait.”
“Sweetheart, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
“Always preferred it hard,” she purred, but the sound was a little too raspy for sexy.
“Cut the crap, Cait.” His gaze lifted to the ceiling and his jaw tightened, a muscle flexing along the hard line. When his eyes locked on her again, for just a moment, something warm but haunted shone in the blue depths.
She stared back, wishing he still loved her. But hey, wishes were like elbows—everybody had ’em. Cait hoped she hadn’t drooled, but knew she had bed-head, and dark mascara likely rimmed her lower lids. Just great. First time she’d seen Sam alone in months and he had the advantage.
“How much did you have to drink last night?” he asked quietly.
“What do you care?” she said thickly, hiding her face with her arm. “Enough. Slept good.” A faint, staticky whisper sounded inside her head, and her hand shot out for the glass on her nightstand.
The glass slid out of her fingers before she had a chance to grab tight.
“No way, babe. I need you sober.”
Now she was pissed. Her head began to pound. She came up on her elbows. “I’m not your partner anymore. Not a cop. And I don’t get out of bed before noon.”
With a quick move, he peeled away the sheet covering her.
“Agh.” She fell back to free an arm to stop him, not sure what he’d see, but hoping that at least her underwear was clean.
But he was fast, and the room spun.
She opened her mouth to deliver another complaint when she was yanked upright by a grip on her upper arm. “Sam, what the hell do you—”
A grunt sounded as he pulled her over his shoulder and stomped toward the bathroom.
Upside down, her stomach lurched. “Stop moving. I’m gonna throw up.”
He came to a halt at her shower, rustled the curtain, and turned on the faucets. Then he dumped her on the tiled floor under a spray of cold water.
The water made her jump. She sputtered, cursing, and pushed back her hair to scowl up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Get washed up.” Sam’s lips twisted in disgust. “You’re coming downtown with me.”
Sitting in the bottom of the stall, she firmed her lips, ready to tell him to go to hell.
His stark, angry expression halted her.
“I need you.”
Just those three words were all it took. She sighed, put her face into the water, and let it sluice over her before gathering her armor around her and giving him a glare. “Do you mind?”
A look came over his face, but before she had a chance to put a name to it, he turned away and stalked back to the bedroom. The sounds of drawers slamming told her he wasn’t letting her off.
“What’s this about?” she shouted, beginning to shiver. With a jerk, she pulled her sodden T-shirt over her head and tossed it outside the stall. Her underwear followed, and she slid up the tiled wall to turn on the hot water.
“Just hurry it up. I don’t have all day to wait on you to get your head straight.”
Cait turned her face in to the spray again, closing her eyes as the water warmed, and she swayed. Her legs stiffened, catching her before she slid to the floor again. If she passed out now, he’d just shove her into her clothes wet.
She’d seen him this mad a time or two. Quiet fury made his movements jerk. His face became a tight, scary mask. She loved that look…when it wasn’t directed at her.
Must be something big for him to be in such a foul mood, but what did he want with her? The way he acted, she wondered why he hadn’t slapped on cuffs. He treated her the same way he did scumbag suspects.
Still, he hadn’t Mirandized her. Maybe he just needed her expert opinion, which set her stomach roiling even more. The only area of police work where she’d had a specialized skill set was the “full moon” cases.
Trying to remedy the dehydration that would keep her head muzzy for hours, she opened her mouth and drank down the warm water. She’d really needed that gulp of Scotch before she got out of bed, but she didn’t think he’d buy that she needed it to think.
The curtain flew back. Sam reached in, turned off the faucets, and tossed her a towel, his frowning gaze sweeping her body only briefly. “Five minutes. Your clothes are on the bed. I’ll be in the car. Don’t make me come back in here.”
She watched the stiff set of his shoulders and wondered if seeing her naked again after all this time had bothered him. Seeing him fully clothed set all her dormant hormones firing, even if they were swimming in alcohol.
Cait sighed and blotted her body with the towel. If he’d been even the least bit nicer, she might have asked him to join her for old times’ sake. However, she guessed they both needed to hold on tight to their anger or they’d never get through the day.
Anger was the deepest emotion either one of them could risk. Anything else would hurt too damn much.
January 25, 2013
4 Days to Shattered Souls! — The Inspiration
Next Tuesday, January 29th, Shattered Souls releases. For the next few days, I’ll share pages from the book and talk to you about what inspired it. I know some of you have been waiting patiently for me to write another longer novel. Well, here it is!
Will you help me?
Authors will tell you that the best advertising for a book is word of mouth. Friends telling other friends about something they’re reading or are about to read is better than any ad I could run on an online review site. If you could start the buzz, I’d appreciate it. This is a book I know in my gut is very good. My editor when she bought the book told me my heroine’s voice was unforgettable. And what started as the first book in a series I thought would move from one couple to the next, ended up being centered on Cait and her ex-husband Sam. You will fall in love with Sam. And come book two, you’ll be ready, for a brief moment in the middle of that book, to kill me. But to get there, you must start with Shattered Souls. If you’re on Facebook or Twitter, tell someone you’re going to be reading this book. Talk about it on GoodReads. Simple as that. And if you have a website and are looking for things to post, well I can hook you up!
The Inspiration
So, how did the idea come to me? One night I laid down to go to sleep. The room was dark, but there was enough light to reflect shadowy images in the mirror. I thought I saw something move. And you know that creepy feeling—the one that lifts the hairs on your arms?—I had to get up, turn on the light and check out that mirror or I’d never get to sleep. It was as I was looking into the mirror, and looking into the sides, that you think you shouldn’t be able to see, that the idea came to me for the start of this story.
I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep. In fact, I knew in an instant where the story was going to take place, and I needed a road trip. I called a friend of mine, Shayla Kersten, and told her I needed to go to Memphis the very next weekend, could she come with me?
The next weekend was Easter weekend, but she was on board and we made that trip. If you’d like to see something of what we saw that weekend, check out these links. You will see some of those places reflected in the story I wrote: Rollin’ on the Trolley, Memphis Metal, Charmin’ Memphis PD, and this photo, taken at Edgemont cemetery, most definitely was featured in the book…
[image error]
Acknowledgements
I had two people in particular to thank for this book. The first was Shayla, because she was game to help me out and didn’t mind that I had her crawling up hilltops for me or embarrassing her by asking people very inappropriate questions as I researched.
And there’s Virginia Ettel, who helped me craft “mama’s poem” at the start of the book. I hate writing poetry, and I do it very badly. That’s okay when Cait’s the spellcaster, but I needed something better for that first spell-poem.
Tomorrow, I’ll share the opening of the book so you can meet my hero and heroine.
A Special Favor
There’s something you can do for me, whether or not you’re ready to buy the book. Right now, there is only one review posted for Shattered Souls by one of Amazon’s “Vine” reviewers. He gave the book a 2. If I thought he was the target audience for this book, that he understood romance at all, I’d leave it alone and let it ride. But if you check out his review history, he gives 5′s to nose hair clippers, products for balding men, and Christian music. I’m quite sure he didn’t come without his prejudices. So if you’d take to the time to click “no” beside Was this review helpful to you?, I’d be forever grateful!
January 24, 2013
A Question…
Tomorrow, I begin my countdown to the release of Shattered Souls, but I thought you might like to take a breath before I assault you with luscious, spooky excerpts from my book. And you certainly won’t want to miss the countdown, because I’ll be giving away goodies!
So a simple question…
If you could add one thing—big or small—to your home, what would it be?
For me, I’d add a separate writing cabin, complete with a tiny kitchenette and a pull-out bed for over-nighters. If it just happened to look like a hobbit’s house, I’d probably never leave!
Psst! Sometime this morning, my blog at the Samhain site will go up. Be sure to hop over there too and answer another question for a chance to win a free book!
January 23, 2013
Guest Blogger: Sabrina York
We all do it. We know we shouldn’t and we probably feel a little guilty about it—but we still do it.
Keep secrets from our spouses.
Sometimes it’s a way to preserve a little piece of ourselves.
Sometimes it’s because we’re afraid for him to know the truth.
Do you ever wonder if your partner would still love you if he or she knew the real truth?
Bella, the feisty heroine of my latest novella, Extreme Couponing, is scared to death to let her husband Tae know her deep dark secret. That the strong, confident woman he fell in love with secretly yearns to be utterly dominated.
She would do anything to keep her handsome hubby happy—even pretend to be something she’s not.
If you’ve read any of my books, you know—you know—Tae is going to find out. And he’s going to give Bella what she needs.
And how.
The book blurb and excerpt follow.
But here’s my question for you: Have you ever kept a deep dark secret from your partner? What did it cost you? And when you came clean, did it make your marriage better?
I must admit, I am guilty. Of a lot of little lies. But the only ones I will divulge in public are pretty tame. For example, yes, I probably am not completely honest about how many times I visit the casino. I certainly don’t admit how many times I troll pictures of super hot guys on Pinterest!
My other sinister confession: All right. Yes. I do it. Sometimes I sneak vegetables into his meatloaf and don’t tell him until after he tells me how yummy it is.
Hah! So there.
As far as my other secrets…well, you’ll just have to wonder.
Please read on for information about my books, contests and coming releases!!
Have a wonderful day, and thanks, Delilah, for letting me ramble on!
About Sabrina York
Sabrina is an award winning author of erotic romance with over a dozen titles available, ranging from sweet & sexy erotic romance to BDSM to erotic horror. Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york or Facebook.
Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on her webpage (www.sabrinayork.com) or explore on Amazon or at Ellora’s Cave.
Coming Releases
Extreme Couponing (Novella): Available January 23, 2013 from Ellora’s Cave
Dark Fancy, the scorching prequel to Folly (Short Novel): Available February 22, 2013 From Ellora’s Cave
Man Hungry (Short Story): Available March 31, 2013 from Ellora’s Cave
* * * * *
Win a Tiara From Her Royal Hotness!
Enter to win a gorgeous tiara by signing up for Sabrina York’s Royal Hotsheet (new book and contest info only–no spam! Your e-mail address will not be shared). If you’re already getting the newsletter, don’t fret. You’re already in the drawing. Send an email with “Enter Me” in the subject line (this is erotica, after all) to sabrina@sabrinayork.com. The drawing will be March 31, 2013.
One entry per person.
Refer Your Friends Bonus Entries
Tell your friends about Sabrina York, Her Royal Hotness. If they sign up for Sabrina’s Hotsheet you earn another entry, plus a chance at a Referrals Only drawing for more bling. (NOTE: They must tell me that you referred them in the message box so I can give you credit).
Good luck!!!
* * * * *
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Bella adores Tae. He is sweet and patient and gentle. She would do anything to keep her handsome hubby happy—even pretend to be something she’s not. She ignores that niggling dissatisfaction with their very vanilla marriage. But secretly, she yearns for something darker.
When Tae discovers—quite by accident—about Bella’s secret desires, he is determined to fulfill her every fantasy—and his. He devises a wicked coupon book full of naughty commands and fiendish challenges. From spankings to bondage to erotic play with household implements, he tests her limits.
With each coupon Tae redeems, Bella sinks deeper and deeper into the lifestyle she has always craved but never had the courage to demand. Can they find a place that allows her to be the strong independent woman he fell in love with and the quivering sub she is at her core?
Copyright © SABRINA YORK, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
If you’re under 18, it is necessary for you to stop reading now.
With a simmering glance at her, he slid a finger beneath the tape. A small booklet fell out onto his lap.
“What is it?” She scooted closer.
“Oh look. You gave me coupons.” He sounded excited. Thrilled even.
“Coupons?” She shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. What on earth was he up to? She was hardly a “coupon queen”. She was the kind of woman who used coupons as bookmarks.
In fact, he did all the grocery shopping. Well, if he wanted food in the house.
She wasn’t very domesticated. Never had been.
He flipped through the booklet, oohing and aahing. The sideways looks he sent her set a fire in her gut.
“Oh Bella,” he purred, pausing on one coupon in particular. “You shouldn’t have.”
She frowned. “Let me see that book.”
Before he could protest, she snatched it from him and flipped through the pages. And she began to laugh. Clearly he’d printed out this booklet on his computer. “Good for one backrub. Hmm.” She flipped to the next. “Good for breakfast in bed.” Okay. There was the usual stuff. One foot rub, one blowjob, one comment-free football game…
And then she came to one that made the breath catch in her throat. She swallowed. Her pussy twitched.
It said, One hour of complete submission.
She froze. Every muscle in her body locked in place. Her heart pounded, her blood thrummed, her body liquefied.
He watched her intently, taking in every nuance of her reaction, his jaw tight, eyes glittering. His tongue snaked out to wet his lips. “I was thinking about redeeming that one now.”
She didn’t even know how to respond, so she just stared at him. They’d been married for nearly a year but he’d never once suggested anything kinky. Never once tried to push the boundaries.
Never once suggested anything even remotely risqué.
Damn it all, anyway.
Bella had never been a wimpy woman. She usually just took what she wanted from life. But in this, especially with Tae, she was tentative, cautious. Nervous.
Usually she was never nervous. But this…
This was something so personal. So intimate. So secret. She’d never had the courage to admit it to him. She’d been scared to death of how he would react if he knew the truth. If he knew what she really craved.
That he was asking for this, now, made her woozy.
She cleared her throat, lowered her lashes. “W-what did you have in mind?”
He waited until she looked at him before he spoke. “I think the coupon speaks for itself.”
“All it says is complete submission.”
“I know. Are you game?”
An unfamiliar tension rose between them. Bella nibbled her lower lip as she contemplated the sudden urge to test his resolve. Or at least the depth of it. “For all I know, you’ll have me cleaning your man cave. Scrubbing the toilets. Doing your laundry.” Their marriage had become that, somehow. An endless list of projects and chores.
“I didn’t have cleaning in mind.” He tipped up her chin. “Sexual submission, Bella. Total. Sexual. Submission. Are you game?”
She swallowed, swamped by the apprehension skirling in her gut, the lust dancing in her pussy. It was all she could do to hold his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
He was right. She did. She bobbed her head, a tiny nod.
Oh yeah. She knew.
She wanted it.
Bad.
She’d always wanted it like that. Craved it. Hungered for it. But then she’d met Tae, a guy who adored her for being a strong woman, for taking the lead, for managing everything. She hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth of it. She hadn’t dared.
“Say it.”
She swallowed. “Say what?”
“Say, yes Tae. I want to be your slave for one hour.”
Her heart stuttered. She forced a laugh. “I can’t say that.”
“You can.”
Bella tried to sort through her conflicting feelings. She wanted this. Needed this. Had fantasized about this. And now he was offering it to her.
And damn it all anyway, it was only for an hour.
Shyness overcame her. She dropped her chin and whispered, “Yes Tae. I want to be your slave for one hour.”
“Sweetheart. Look at me when you answer.”
She did. “Yes Tae. I want to be your slave for one hour.”
His nostrils flared. A certain light glinted in his eyes and a raft of dimples exploded on his cheek. The stark beauty of his face snared her. It always did, but tonight, backlit by a crackling fire and the lights of the tree, he seemed even more intense. From the dark, dominant brow, to the high cheekbones, to those full lips…
He ripped the coupon from the book and gave her a look that sent a tremor through her body. Maybe it was the heavy-lidded heat he invested in the glance or maybe it was the way his body tightened, every muscle, as he gauged her reaction. She knew instinctively that something very different was about to…arise between them.
It was as though it was their first time all over again. Trying to make light of the electricity, the lust lashing through her, she accepted the coupon with what she hoped was credible aplomb. She cleared her throat. “Okay, Tae. What do you want me to do?”
He didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
“I want you naked.”
January 22, 2013
Things I do when I’m not writing…
Last year, I started attending the local art guild meetings with my mother. She didn’t like driving at night, so I agreed to take her even though I’ve never had any interest in visual arts other than collecting.
What I discovered was that I didn’t have to draw a straight line to produce art. When the guild asked for artists to participate in a studio art tour, where folks culd visit the artists’ craft rooms, studios, barns–wherever they produced their art—I signed up with mom and dragged my daughter right along.
We began making altered art pendants, using decoupage techniques. We made a ton of things with dominoes and scrabble tiles. When we grew more confident, and made things we wanted to wear, we branched into using inks, stamps, paint, etc. An example of something I made recently is this pendant. A funny thing happened.
I started posting my pictures on Facebook. People contacted me, wanting to know where they could buy our little pendants. We all had so much fun with the idea, we’re in the midst of creating a website, and branching out with beading, bead-making, metal-stamping, crochet and knotted cord and silks…
You get the picture. I have a new obsession. And it’s one that fits very nicely around my writing life. When I’m drained of words for the day, I head to the art room.
Here are some more recent samples…
This one sold the day I posted it.
I’ve grown more confident. This one I painted then stamped. The “messier” the images look, the happy accidents, are what make them more interesting to me.
I just love making these!
And I’ve found a way to blend my two worlds…
January 21, 2013
Guest Blogger: Catherine Paulssen
Thanks, Delilah, for inviting me to be a guest blogger. I hope you’ll feel better soon!
Even the most vivid imagination needs a little push…
“Creativity – like human life itself – begins in darkness,” American author Julia Cameron once said. For me, that darkness is the darkness in a movie theatre before the lights begin to shine on the silver screen…
Let’s face it – it’s hard to set the mood sometimes. Especially when a deadline is looming. There are those writers who observe professional, strict writing rules. They start their day early in the morning, have coffee, and sit down, have more coffee, write for a few hours straight, have a break, then continue writing.
While I admire such discipline, it never was for me. How to have a lunch break when you character is just in the middle of breaking up their relationship? Or what if inspiration doesn’t care one bit about the schedule you set? If all you can think about is unpaid bills, dirty dishes in the kitchen and the visit of the in-laws tomorrow?
Besides, most of us have day jobs, so time to write erotica and romance is spare and needs to be used as it comes.
How do you get into the writing mood? What inspires you most?
For me, it’s the movies. Especially on grey and chilly January days like these, I need sweeping movie melodies to spark my creativity, and a look out of Robert Redford’s blues eyes. Or Isabella Rossellini’s green ones. I need sentences like “Am I K in your book? I think I must be.” from The English Patient, or universal truths like “I don’t mind making a fool of myself over you”, which Maggie the Cat says to the man she loves in Cat On The Hot Tin Roof.
It’s those that are so magical in their simplicity that touch me most, and make my mind wander, such as when Rocky said to his future brother-in-law about love of his life Adrian: “I dunno, she’s got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps.” Sentences that tell a whole world: “I think I wrote that stupid book, in a way, to try to find you.”, and utterly sad and beautiful ones, also said by Ethan Hawke’s character in Before Sunset: “I feel like if someone were to touch me, I’d dissolve into molecules.”
Gone is the writer’s block, the dirty dishes are forgotten, and the unpaid bills remain unpaid a bit longer, or to say it with Bruce Willis: “Yippie-kai-yay, motherfucker.”
Before writing Her Hero for Delilah’s upcoming anthology Smokin’ Hot Firemen, I watched Backdraft (for the umpteenth time). I wonder why there are such few movies about fire fighters, compared to the importance of their work, the sacrifices they make, and the stories they could tell, and compared to movies about other professions. Anyway, I hope you’ll find the passion and bravery and longing that the movie portrays reflected in my story.
To sort of quote Cora Blu, who wrote on this blog a week ago: Now you know the movie buff in me.
More on movies and the stories they inspired on www.catherinepaulssen.com or Twitter: @CatePaulssen
January 20, 2013
Guest Blogger: N. J. Walters
I think most authors will tell you that one of the most frequently asked questions they get is: Where do your ideas come from?
The answer may vary slightly from author to author, but most writers I know will tell you their ideas come from everywhere! A spark of a plot may come from an overheard snippet of conversation or a television show. Inspiration may strike when reading a magazine, listening to the radio or viewing a movie. A brilliant concept could appear in a dream or the muse may smack you in the face with your latest book idea from out of nowhere.
Now you may be saying to yourself, everyone watches television, reads magazines and has interesting dreams. And that’s true. But what makes the writer different from everyone else is that they delve deeper and start asking questions. I like to call them the “what if” questions. What would a character do if she found herself in certain situation? What happens next?
Authors will also take seemingly unrelated ideas and connect them. That’s what happened to me with my latest Samhain Publishing release—Night of the Tiger. I was on one of my Yahoo groups a few years back and someone had posted one of those blog quizzes. You know the ones. You click a few buttons to answer some questions and they tell you which color most represents you, which cookie you are like, or which zoo animal you might be (if you were indeed an animal). On this particular day, the quiz was about carnival rides. I filled out the questionnaire and discovered if I was a carnival ride I would be a carousel. No surprise there. I’m not one for roller coasters or other death-defying rides. A slow, gentle carousel suits me just fine.
But I kept thinking about the carousel and wondered what one might look like if the animals were more exotic, maybe even mythical, rather than your run-of-the-mill horses. Then I started asking the “what if” questions. What if the animals on the rides were really trapped there by an ancient curse. What if they were really immortal shapeshifting warriors. Why were they there? How would they escape? What dangers would surround them? Throw in an ancient feud between a god and goddess and I had the seeds for not just one book, but a new series.
These thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone and I outlined a four-book series I entitled Hades’ Carnival. Night of the Tiger is the first book and introduces you to Roric, immortal warrior and tiger, and the very mortal woman who helps break his curse.
To win the battle for his soul, he may have to sacrifice the woman who set him free.
Hades’ Carnival, Book 1
http://store.samhainpublishing.com/night-tiger-p-7182.html
Aimee Horner lives and breathes her career as a graphic novel illustrator, but she never expected it would invade her dreams. In recent months, worsening nightmares have pulled her into the darkest corners of Hell.
On a rare night out with friends at a traveling carnival, she finds herself strangely drawn to an abandoned carousel adorned with vividly exotic animals. One steed, a massive white tiger, is a temptation she can’t resist. The moment she climbs upon him, her world changes forever.
More than five thousand years ago, Roric and his fellow shapeshifting warriors were imprisoned in their animal forms, a last-ditch effort by the goddess they served to save them from the horrors of Hell.
With one special woman’s touch, he has a chance at freedom and redemption—but the clock is ticking. If he is still alive in twenty-four hours, the spell will be broken, and Hell will have no claim on his soul. The only hitch is his blazing attraction to Aimee. If only he could trust that she isn’t merely a distraction sent by Hades—luscious bait to lure him from his mission.
So you see, writers find their inspiration everywhere, which is why there are a never-ending supply of stories to tell. So when they tell you the ideas for their books come from everywhere, they’re telling you the absolute truth.
* * * * *
N.J. has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
Visit me at:
Website: http://www.njwalters.com
Blog: http://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
Newsletter Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/awakeningdesires/
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/njwaltersauthor
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
January 19, 2013
Snippet Saturday: Description (Contest)
Today’s SS topic is description.
Ever wonder how we writers do it? When we start writing, we learn tricks like closing our eyes and imagining the world our characters live in. What do we see, smell, feel, hear? Then we practice, trying not to overload the reader with too much description, but interspersing it in our scenes so that the reader’s experience is natural. We all want to be swept away, right? The example below is one of my favorite descriptive scenes. Click on the cover if you want to read more…
If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this book!
“…STONE’S EMBRACE is a wonderfully descriptive story…The mix of Greek mythology with Christian elements is intriguing and adds to the subtle layering of eroticism and exoticism…this story is fantastic and a super-hot read!” ~ 5 Angels, Fallen Angels Reviews
“…The sex in the book was off the charts hot!…It was a wonderfully different story with a strong characters and a fun plot that left this reviewer breathless!” ~ 5 Stars, Just Erotic Romances
Lust trapped them in darkness…only love can free them…
A Captive Souls story.
Petra Pedersen has lived as a recluse all her life thanks to a genetic double whammy—a strange deformity and a shameful power inherited from the father she will never know. The power to incite lust in men and women with just a touch.
Exploring the garden of the mansion she’s just inherited, she comes across a fascinating stone gargoyle whose raw, passionate expression draws her to caress its broad chest. Her imagination follows her fluttering fingers. As she closes her eyes and gives herself up to the arousal, something shifts beneath her touch.
Long ago, failure to stop a demon battle trapped Octavius in a prison of stone. Freed by the woman’s incendiary touch, he doesn’t hesitate to unleash his pent-up rage and desire in a blistering fury. Yet once the haze of lust clears, he discovers he isn’t really free after all.
They are both trapped in another realm where he must choose between his last chance for redemption or returning Petra home…
Warning: Sex with inanimate objects, lusty m/m/f ménages with gods…it’s all good when the reward is freedom.
Louisiana 1909
Octavius rammed his shoulder against the heavy oak door. The lock and hinges gave and the door crashed backward with a satisfying thud, raising dust that sifted through the air like silver-gilt fireflies in the moonlight. Wary, he stepped across the threshold. Inside, the house was dark, the air thick—too heavy to be natural.
He knew, without reeling in the psychic tether that kept him chained to the Grigori, that Bacclum was here. That the bastard had found the demon. He prayed he wasn’t too late to save Bacclum from his own insatiable lust for power. The consequences of his failure would mean his own end.
He should have known that Bacclum planned mischief that night. The mixed-blood angel had been too eager to see Octavius take a rare walk among humans, encouraging him to attend a masked ball at a wealthy residence inside the French Quarter.
While Octavius had enjoyed the rare opportunity to mingle among sweet-smelling women, secretly laughing as he pretended a lever inside his vest controlled the movement of his wings and thrilling to the many strokes of soft hands along his ribbed folds, Bacclum had snuck away. But not before he’d assured himself that his watcher’s vigilance had been dulled by the herbs stirred into his drink. If Octavius hadn’t noted the uneasy glances of the sloe-eyed woman who’d gulled him, he might have drunk the full measure. As it was, his head still swam and his loins throbbed with unabated lust.
The sound of crashing furniture and the low rumble of a masculine voice drew him up the staircase and down a hallway toward the sliver of golden light, fanning outward from a partially opened doorway. Sliding his back close to the wall, he gently pushed open the door and peered around the corner into a room lined with shelves of books.
Bacclum’s dark head was bent toward his chest, his thighs braced around the demon, his hands wrapped around a straining throat.
I’m not too late, thank the gods. “Let go, Bacclum!” Octavius growled as he stalked toward the Grigori steadily strangling the demon he clasped.
“Not until he gives me what I want.” Bacclum grunted, his face screwing into a fierce grimace. “I want all of it.”
Octavius stepped deeper into the library then felt a slight, telltale rumbling beneath his feet.
Bacclum seemed unaware of the heightening danger, so intent was he on murdering the demon and claiming his power for his own.
Octavius cursed beneath his breath. He should have suspected what Bacclum had intended when he’d entered this demon’s realm. The angel’s thirst for power was unquenchable. The council had warned Octavius long ago of Bacclum’s unrelenting quest, but he’d believed the core of the creature squeezing the life force from the demon was good and honorable. He’d believed that Bacclum understood the uneasy balance that had to be maintained between the forces of light and darkness. In the end, he’d misjudged him, underestimating his need for vengeance. Now it was up to him alone to set this right.
Octavius folded his wings forward, scraping the leathery tips against Bacclum’s slick, hot skin, intending to wrap his wings around Bacclum’s face and smother him into unconsciousness. The rumbling increased, fed by the faint chanting echoing inside his head. The demon was far from vanquished.
“Let go, Bacclum,” he roared, leaning closer to pull Bacclum back, but something lashed around his own wrists. Invisible bonds tightened then jerked him off his feet.
He landed on the floor on his knees and growled. The air around them grew dank and humid like a demon’s breath, and the voice chanting in an ancient tongue inside his head grew louder and stronger.
The house shivered violently. The wood flooring creaked. Windows rattled then shattered. Glass shards, like silvery projectiles, peppered his wings and back and shredded his clothing, drawing blood from hundreds of cuts.
Bacclum’s head jerked back and canted to the side. At last, he’d caught the chanting voice and had to know he’d awakened the demon’s inner fire.
The breeze sweeping through the shattered window intensified and swirled around the room, tightening into a devil wind that picked up more slivers of glass and jagged bits of shattered furniture that pinged against the paneled walls but sank into tender flesh.
Octavius’s chest, back and wings were flayed, scraped raw. He reared back, fighting the phantom manacles holding him. Suddenly he was wrenched from the ground and held still inside the fulcrum of the whirlwind.
With only a moment to suck in a deep breath, he was flung forward, forced to ride the arc of an invisible whip, then shot backward like a cannonball through the gaping window onto fragrant grass.
Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. Moonlight silvered the damp grass. He shook his head clear and ripped off the ragged clothing hanging from the belt at his waist.
Freed at last, he knelt, breathing deeply and gathering strength. He flared his wings and dug his knuckles into the turf. He pushed upward—but his feet never left the ground. His wings never caught the wind beneath their leathery folds.
Frozen, first by horror, then irreversibly by magic, he could only stand there, his terrified gaze watching as his body was slowly consumed, inch by inch, by stone.
* * * * *
Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:
Lissa Matthews
Rhian Cahill
Eliza Gayle
Leah Braemel
Myla Jackson
Caris Roane
Jody Wallace
McKenna Jeffries
Taige Crenshaw
HelenKay Dimon
Shiloh Walker
Lauren Dane
TJ Michaels
